


five dinners that weren't dates (and one date that wasn't dinner)

by rjosettes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjosettes/pseuds/rjosettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rift between the Argents and Hales is, to put it kindly, a huge pain in Allison's ass. Gently nudging her parents toward more progressive views on humanoid supernaturals isn't exactly working out for her, judging by the shouting matches her father likes to have with Talia Hale in front of the whole town.</p><p>It's time to throw them into the deep end.</p><p>OR</p><p>The one where Allison dates a Hale for the greater good. No, really. That's the only reason, Lydia, listen!</p>
            </blockquote>





	five dinners that weren't dates (and one date that wasn't dinner)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bisexuallydia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexuallydia/gifts).



> There's a dash of background Lydia/Malia, Braeden/Derek, and Jordan Parrish/Laura Hale here, so look out for that!
> 
> I wrote this for the Teen Wolf Femslash Exchange, pulling together the 'love/hate' and fake dating prompts. I hope it turned out alright!
> 
> Many thanks as always to my hardworking beta and the other half of my own real life femslash ship, [Kat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama)!

Allison tries to focus on what the mayor is saying at the podium at the head of the room. It's not that she lacks a commanding presence; she'd have had Allison's vote, if she'd been old enough. But no matter how well she speaks or how important this meeting is (what is it for again?), Allison's eyes keep crossing and her butt is numb. Nothing could save this damn banquet.

She can't even sit next to Lydia and let the scathing political commentary and disparaging remarks about choice in wardrobe keep her awake. It's been months since she actually got to sit with her friends for something important with all of the adults in town present. While the Martins used to reserve their seats next to the Argents and stand in solidarity against any special allowances for the supernaturally enhanced, they now sit across the room, shoulder to shoulder with the Yukimuras and the Hales. Allison can actually see Lydia and Malia playing footsie beneath the table, and though part of her wants to gag, it's not because Malia isn't strictly human. That may be where her family stands, but it's still, for the most part, absurd to her.

Without someone to hold her attention or even to prop her up and keep her from slumping, Allison is a mess. These town events drive her up the wall. She would rather be out running while the streets are emptier and the weather is cool, reflective tape on her shoes, gloves, and windbreaker. Hell, she'd even rather be doing homework by herself, if it meant not sitting between her father and her holier-than-thou cousin, wishing that Kate gave a shit about being here. College can't come soon enough; hopefully then she'll be allowed to make her own decision on whether she wants to 'represent the integrity and dedication of the Argent family' at every single benefit held for god knows what this time. It had been law enforcement last month, helping to fund the charity wing of the hospital a few before that. Things that are somewhat uncontroversial at their root, but somehow always descend into disagreement.

The Yukimuras seem nice enough, mildly vocal about equal rights for the weres and other supernaturals and never stepping too far into the spotlight, since they've only been here about a year since their move from New York. That alone had been enough to make some of the residents a bit wary, nevertheless the fact that they're a mixed family – Ken, your average human history teacher, and his wife and daughter, Noshiko and Kira, celestial and thunder kitsunes. Allison has only really seen Kira with Malia and a few of the other people like them, but she seems nice enough, bubbly instead of the quiet girl she appears to be at meetings like this. Her mother seems to be a little more assertive about things, but never so much that anything gets out of hand.

Not like her own family. And not like the Hales.

Talia Hale and her husband Jason are loud and unapologetic born werewolves with a lot to say about just about everything that could affect them. Not just wildly discriminatory things like population control for those that aren't fully human but subtler issues, like trying to enforce curfews and call weres in the preserve on full moons 'trespassing'. For all intents and purposes, they are just as much a part of the wildlife as anything else out there at night, and if Allison can run on the trail specifically for running and biking, she doesn't see a problem with were-things out among the trees and brush. She can't say that to her father's face, but she can believe it privately, and that's something, isn't it?

The Hale kids are kind of a mixed bag. The oldest, Laura, is really only around about half the time; when she does come, she spends most of the night looking at her deputy boyfriend who is, admittedly, very pretty. Almost pretty enough for Allison to be attracted to, but not quite. He's aesthetically pleasing. They seem smitten with one another in a way that's a little disgusting to her in the same vein as Lydia and Malia. Her parents are in love, as far as her knowledge goes, but not affectionate in the way she sees young people being all around her. Kate is in and out of her life at best, and even when she's firmly _in_ , she's not keen on bringing anyone back to the house. Allison is sure there's been someone (many someones?), but it's all the same to her, not having to meet them.

Derek is several years younger than Laura, enough so that not only does he not have near-constant romantic accompaniment, he's also a little bit relatable. Though she's seen him smile and laugh with his sister and her boyfriend, even his parents, he wears a pinched face through most of his seemingly grudging public appearances. He doesn't insert himself into any conversations that might be heard by people more than three or four feet away, and Allison's never seen him get huffy or walk out the way some people might when either side gets a little too rowdy for them. She gets the strong feeling that, despite being on 'opposite' sides of all of this, they might agree on most things.

If Laura is positive and Derek is neutral, well....then there's Cora. She's actually the same age as Allison, or at least the same grade, and they're both still in school. Plenty of families pulled their kids out – human and not-quite-human alike – as things got more tense. The Hales would stand for no such thing, of course. Allison can vaguely remember hearing the parents of her friends fight over what to do – private school versus leaving their 'normal' kids in school with 'those things'. Of course, that fight happened before Allison had even been born, in her family. Kate likes to tell that story, a sort of glee in her eyes when she talks about the screaming matches between Allison's parents, and Grandpa as well, though he's moved away since. As soon as they'd found out that Allison, still in the womb and a long way off from any concept of gender, was growing a 'little flower' and wouldn't be welcome at the boys' school where her mother was employed, there'd been the ongoing fight of what to do.

Public school had won out in the end; Chris and Kate had both made it through just fine, not a bite or scratch (or scorch or slice or any period of unnatural mesmerism) on them. Besides, as the other side of this issue would say, these kids were a barely-there portion of the population. And that was true of most of the schools Allison hopped around to from kindergarten until tenth grade (her second time trying tenth grade, that is). Occasionally, Allison would meet a selkie who shifted uncomfortably in her human clothes, obviously wishing to be back in the true skin she had to shed to attend school. A werecreature of some kind, occasionally flashing a hint of a fang or glowing eyes. Nothing that had ever made her uncomfortable, and never more than one or two in her entire grade at a time.

Beacon Hills is, in essence, a beacon. Allison's senior class has at least eight weres and assorted other supernatural students like Kira. There are enough kids in the high school with what are basically superpowers for them to form their own sports teams if they wanted. She's pretty sure a good half or more of their lacrosse team is technically cheating, even if it's been declared fair – these kids were always playing sports, and all teams are allowed to keep playing them, so it could feasibly be an even field. There are enhanced physicals to make sure the weres can compete without endangering themselves or others, but otherwise, things are carrying on fine – and the games are so much more interesting to watch.

Kira and Allison have overlapping social circles, but Cora Hale is on her own level entirely. The first time Allison had seen her was back in junior year, when she'd been settling in for the first time in her life and Cora was sort of newer than her, in a way. Everyone seems to know she disappeared for six or seven years but no one Allison is close with has ever asked where to or why. It had been two weeks into the school year already and the bathroom was filled with smoke when she walked in between third and fourth period, coughing and easing back toward the door to go and pull the fire alarm, when she waved away enough of it to actually see through to the opposite wall.

“That's really bad for you,” Allison had choked, as the drowsy-eyed girl blew her next lungful out the cracked window instead. “And everyone else.” Her friend, a girl she thought was a sophomore or even a freshman, stubbed out her own cigarette against the sink.

She didn't know what to expect in response – genuine remorse, some kind of smartass remark, complete silence. What was absolutely not on her list of possibilities was behind door number four: the dim and slowly brightening pale gold glow of a beta werewolf's eyes. She'd had six months to get used the idea that these kids were all around her, now more than ever. And capable of casually smoking two packs a day with few consequences, besides a smoky girls' room. Right.

They haven't interacted a hell of a lot since then – the teachers know better than to 'randomly' assign a militant hunter's daughter to a group project with the girl who gives the least fucks about keeping her werewolf blood under wraps. Not to mention she and Cora are popular in different senses of the word. Allison hadn't _meant_ to attach herself to Lydia and subsequently be in the public eye at all times, but Lydia had not been open to taking a no on her offer of friendship. She's not terribly close with anyone else, except maybe Lydia's ex Jackson, which is complicated in itself. Cora is athletic and seems too cynical not to be intelligent, but her only extracurricular activity seems to be hanging out in small, condescending groups wearing a lot of black.

At meetings, Allison can feel how badly she doesn't want to be there from across the room. It doesn't stop her from always ending up at her mother's elbow, leaving the rants to Talia but broadcasting rage with all of her little body. In heels, Lydia's taller than this girl, but her physical presence is menacing in a way that can't even be attributed to the fact that she's a were; Cora is just plain angry and doesn't need to gnash her fangs or be a foot taller for it to show. Allison barely thinks of the reality of the other Hales being wolves; with Cora, she can never forget.

Especially when the floor opens up for commentary and Allison's father has to put his two cents in. Allison tastes bile as soon as he opens his mouth, anticipating disaster. They're just about due for another blow-up, judging by the time that's passed since the last and the way her mother is gripping the edge of the tumble, even her fingernails going pale with lack of blood. She's frantically trying to look literally anywhere other than where her father's chair legs are scraping across the floor as he moves to stand, knowing one of the Hales or someone else will follow. By pure chance, her eyes meet Derek's, and the weariness shared between them feels like it could bridge across oceans. Lydia's already leading Malia out by the hand, her mother waving after them but staying to watch the fray.

Allison can't walk out, unfortunately, even when voices are being raised and more people are unnecessarily getting up from their chairs. It's the same atmosphere that used to precede food fights in grade school, brawling as she got older. The palpable air of conflict surrounding them here is already giving her a headache and she can only stare in misery at the similarly dejected Derek; he always seems to have higher hopes for these nights than she does.

Natalie Martin is watching everything with the sort of casual detachment that Allison wishes she was allowed to have. Six months ago, she'd have been fiercely whispering with Allison's mother, bent toward one another in a nasty sort of insider's club – like they had plenty to say but nothing that the 'sympathizers' deserved to hear. Now it's almost as if she were never a member of their little club, never preaching separatism and hypervigilance. It's almost comical how quickly she'd shifted sides after Lydia had made it perfectly clear that she was as far from separate as she could get, tongue deep in a werecoyote whenever she could find the time.

Watching her shoot Derek and Cora consoling looks as their mother stands and joins the fiftieth iteration of the same old argument, Allison can see how petty it all is. Less than a year of watching her daughter be happy and Natalie Martin is reaching out for the hand of even the most hostile member of what used to be the enemy camp. Cora looks at her like she's crawled up from a landfill, of course, but the sentiment is there.

And it comes to Allison. Just like that. She stares even more forlornly at Derek, hating how much easier this idea would be if she could try with him instead, someone already looking for the same things. But her family knows better by now, of course, and Derek is possibly even less interested in her than she in him.

She puts her head down on the table with the pounding in her head as an excuse and tries to be optimistic. One Hale's as good as another, right? This will be for the good of everyone. Even someone as ornery as Cora can't snub that. Even if it means dating an Argent.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

 

Allison doesn't think it counts as stalking, exactly. She didn't dip into any of her father's resources, at least; she's not nearly old enough to be certified and registered as a hunter. She's allowed to train with her bows, and she knows her way around a gun or two, but using connections to local traditional law enforcement or peeking into any not-exactly-legal surveillance they might have posted around.... Instead, good old-fashioned keeping her eyes peeled wins out (and maybe talking Lydia into asking Malia a few things).

Turns out, Derek enforces a weekly hangout with his younger sister. That's weird enough to hear in and of itself. Derek doesn't seem the social type, even when it comes to his own family, and the idea of Cora folding under pressure is foreign and unexplainable. However, it's convenient as hell. If Derek can convince Cora of something so constant and long-term, having him around can work in Allison's favor. Her chances are about as good as they're ever going to get.

Allison is almost surprised to find them in a greasy spoon sort of place, but she guesses they can afford to eat whatever the hell they want. The place isn't under human ownership, either, which she notices when she walks through the door. At least, the people behind the counter have a distinct point to their ears and pale eyes, and they look surprised to see her walking in. Even in the clothes she so carefully picked out for this mission, fluttery and pale and non-threatening, she's recognizable as an Argent. There's no bell over the door, presumably because everyone that works here would know someone was coming anyway. Subtle things like this are what Allison's been trained to watch for, to be able to sense as if she were constantly under the gun.

Derek and Cora are wedged together on a single side of the booth, the one facing the door. He seems to give a checking glance, look away, and then register what he's seen, freezing instead of giving her a second look. Cora doesn't look up from her onion rings, her phone face down on the table next to Derek's. Allison recognizes that as the 'no phones at the table' compromise – in reach if it rings, unavailable for texting or surfing the internet.

She takes a deep breath and approaches the table, sliding right into the opposite side of the booth with no greeting, letting her purse fall into the seat beside her. Side by side, looking up at her like she's lost her mind, their resemblance is actually pretty strong. Derek still looks more like their mother and Cora more like their father, but the disconnect she'd always seen between them disappears this close up. Derek is _absolutely_ as judgmental as his sister, let the record show, and his eyebrows only make it worse.

“I have a proposition,” Allison says swiftly, trying to avoid any kind of scene.

Cora splutters, almost choking on her food as she laughs, but she doesn't dignify it with a response. Instead, she wipes her mouth and looks at Derek expectantly. Allison almost thinks he's flushing underneath all that beard, and Cora laughs a little more, still occupying herself with her dinner.

“You're going to have to be a little more specific than that,” Derek says, each word measured. “And I think you know that.”

It's no slap in the face or clear suggestion to take herself right back out the door. She's got her foot in. Sort of. “Actually, it's more like I have an idea. I'm tired of all of the fighting going on every time our families are in the same room, and I want to fix it.” It's Derek that laughs at her this time, covering his mouth so that he doesn't get sweet potato fries everywhere. Allison huffs. “I don't know what's so funny. I thought you'd want to help.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do. And that's what I've been doing. Not stirring the pot, because I'm not interested, and supporting my parents. Voting.”

“And sleeping with the en-” Cora starts, only to jolt sharply and cut her eyes at her brother.

Allison bites her lip, glancing between the two of them. “That's going to help you-” she gestures at the two of them, but also the employees here, “in the long run. I get that. I'll be eighteen when the vote about the preserve happens, and I'm going to vote with you guys on that. But I'm talking about now, with my family, specifically. Since I don't see anyone else having shouting matches with your mom.”

“My mom does not shout,” Cora says gravely. “And unless your plan involves therapy and re-education, I don't think your dad's going to stop.”

This is going so far downhill so fast that Allison can feel the weird flip in her stomach, like she's on a roller coaster she didn't want to get on in the first place. “Okay, but. First just – have you noticed Ms. Martin sits with you now? And Lydia? Because I know my family has, I had to go through World War III with them about staying friends with Lydia.”

“Natalie had a change of heart,” Derek allows. “But she's also never touched a gun in her life and had no idea we existed until about a decade ago. That's not exactly your family's starting point.”

“It's mine.” She's met with disbelief that, yes, she probably deserves. “I've never fired a live gun outside of a range,” she clarifies.

Cora snorts. “Yeah, you just know how to disassemble and reassemble them, right? That's _way_ less like being the guerilla werewolf patrol than actually killing us.” She's rolling her eyes before Allison can even breathe.

“You're born with your weapons. It's only fair we know ours just as intimately. I don't have any plan to shoot anyone. I actually think special auxiliary forces for this are unnecessary. We need to be collapsed into regular law enforcement and train everyone to handle any situation that might come up.”

“So you want even more people who know how to kill us.”

Derek's hand covers Cora's where it's currently bending the hell out of the silverware. “Anyone would know how to kill a human, especially law enforcement. It's only fair they know how to handle us.”

“Exactly. But I don't think you guys need some sort of special control. This is temporary, until police can catch up. And until now, we were necessary because no one else knew. This is better. Less room for abuse, more room for improvement. It's better than it was, and you don't have to hide anymore.”

“Some of _yours_ don't even want us to be allowed to hide,” Cora says, dropping the warped spoon and pulling back from her brother's hand. “How progressive.”

Allison sighs, expecting more help from Derek and finding none. “That's big picture stuff, like Derek said. I can't change that alone. No one can. Your biggest problem in town right now that I can make a difference in is my family being a pack of assholes.”

The pair of them are silent for a moment, probably trying to hear or smell anything on her that doesn't point toward the earnest truth. They won't find it. Allison's sick and tired of the shouting and the constant assumption that Lydia, previously a shining beacon of light to her parents, is a bad influence now that she's with Malia. No matter that she's the only reason that Allison passed econ and is now dual enrolled at a local college because high school just isn't enough to occupy her.

“So how were you planning on fixing that?” Derek asks, crossing his arms on the tabletop. “Because I can't see why you'd be telling us, unless you want brownie points ahead of time.”

“I need to date Cora,” Allison blurts before she can think better of it.

“Why me?” is the first thing Cora asks. Now just 'why' or 'have you lost it?' or 'are you going to enjoy the door hitting you in the ass on the way out?' Just 'why me'.

Breathing deep, Allison backtracks to the mental script she'd walked in with. “Laura's straight. And still making heart eyes at Jordan the last time I checked. And old enough that my parents would hate you more, not less. And Derek...” She shrugs. “My family knows I'm not interested in men. And that you're already dating a hunter.”

“ _Bounty_ hunter,” Derek corrects, flustered. “She takes human jobs, too.”

Allison smiles politely, because bounty hunter is the kindest possible label for Braeden someone could find. “And Malia, as attractive as she is, is dating my best friend. I'd have to pretend to be dating both of them to make it work, and polyamory is distracting enough in itself.”

“So I'm your last resort Hale. _After_ someone who isn't even actually a Hale. That totally makes me want to date you, Argent.”

“Well, it wouldn't be real, obviously. I'm not asking you out. Ms. Martin calmed down about all of you when Lydia started getting serious with Malia. That could work for us! You're not a stereotype anymore; you're people when you get close. It's not forever. We could break up over leaving for college, or something. A few months. We'll pretend we're hanging out alone a lot.”

Derek still looks confused, carefully studying his sister, her eyebrows up and mouth turned down. There's no way to tell if he thinks this idea has any merit at all, which was pretty much her only chance at making this work. Instead, he's just looking at Cora like she'll enlighten them any second.

“Fuck off,” she says decisively, teeth snapping through the crisp of the onion ring batter with a sound that seems incredibly loud in the silent diner. Her gaze slips back down to her plate and the cooled food still left on it, and Allison is stranded.

At home, she flips through last year's yearbook to see if anyone else is a viable candidate. Most of the girls are too young or just plain not helpful – not every supernatural humanoid is vilified as much as the next, and Allison mostly needs this to be a were for it to work. Cora had been perfect. Her first choice, not her last, though she couldn't have told them that.

She gets a text from a local number she doesn't recognize at 1 a.m. (or rather, she sees it when she wakes up in the morning at 5:30). 'We'll talk at lunch' with no final punctuation, no meeting place, no indication of who this is at all, but, well. Derek Hale doesn't go to high school, and she can't think of anyone else who would be texting her like this. How the hell Cora got her number is a question for another day. Or maybe never. Never works.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

“I used to play softball,” Cora says through a mouthful of spaghetti. This is news to Allison, but she doesn't offer up that information. “Which I guess is a cliché. I did actually hook up with some of those girls, too.” Kate smothers a laugh in her napkin, and Allison wants to break her own thumbs. This is torture.

Her father coughs into his sleeve, still uncomfortable after the fifteen minutes they've been making small talk. “Right. Allison didn't tell us you were...athletic. But that makes sense, I guess.”

“Because I like girls or because I'm a werewolf?”

Allison chokes on her garlic bread. Honestly, she can't even decide if she's upset or amused. She's never been this blunt with her parents; for the longest time, she thought coaxing would make a big difference. Gentle steps in the right direction. Now she's violently shoved them over the edge, and Cora is anything but a kiddie tide pool.

No one answers her question either way, and Allison bangs her fork around on her plate as much as is humanly possible without looking like she's trying to start an impromptu supper table band. “I find athletic to be a weird word,” she says, grasping at straws. “I run, I have my bows. I took gymnastics for eight years. But no one really thinks of me as athletic because I don't play a sport.”

“Derek took gymnastics,” Cora says blandly, like that's not the beginning of a bombshell conversation of old Derek stories. “Never competed. He just likes to do flips, I guess.”

“No, but he'd still get counted as athletic. I know I've seen Hale written on some sports trophies somewhere.”

Cora gives her a warning look, as subtle as anything Allison's ever seen her do. “Different Hale.”

Conversation moves on from there, and Allison spends most of her time trying to steer them away from anything that gives Cora opportunities to seize the day – or the microaggression, as it's turned out. The food is an alright topic, apparently, and, surprisingly, Kate manages to hold civil conversation for five minutes about some reality television show that Allison doesn't actually watch. Past partners, mutual friends, and grades are all bad topics; her family is, of course, even worse. Doesn't stop Cora from name-dropping one of them every time she opens her mouth.

That hadn't been part of the plan they'd outlined over a few days at school and twice at a cafe – human-owned and human-run and _popular_ , most importantly. Being seen together was a big part of the plan, and it took nothing more than sitting near each other for the talk to start. Allison figures she's just about one of the only girls Cora hasn't hooked up with that she might have the opportunity to. It's pretty lowkey news for now, but it's likely not to stay that way long.

The rest of the plan involved family dinners – Cora fought tooth and claw to rule out her own family, but Derek – stopping by to eavesdrop – had talked her into it. Apparently, she's never actually brought anyone home before, girl or guy, and the Hales have been getting anxious over the past few years. This dinner had taken hours of negotiation and planning, though. Making sure all of the weaponry and wolfsbane were safely away from the main floor and breaking down literally every possible point of escape from her house had been exhausting, especially taking into consideration that Cora can jump from the roof or any window without so much as a bump or bruise.

“I need to know,” Cora had said, far less flippant than she'd been about anything so far. “I know you can't possibly understand what it's like, but I have to be able to see my way out.”

They can see the front door from the dining room, thankfully, if the windows aren't satisfactory. She'd even made sure that the small window in the bathroom hadn't been painted over. If there's one thing that can't be questioned, it's Allison's dedication to a project once she's already started it. This entire evening has been the proof of that.

Kate strikes up a conversation with Allison's mom that has nothing to do with any of the rest of them, leaving them to eat in silence. It's a relief, but Allison keeps sneaking looks at Cora anyway. She's nearly finished off her plate at this point. Allison's is mostly full still, tiny bites pushed around to the edges. Cora doesn't cut her spaghetti. She twirls it in long looping strands around her fork and doesn't seem to notice if it dangles. She slurps. It's fascinating.

Allison gets wrangled into cleaning the table, and her eyes go round at the idea of leaving Cora alone with everyone. She's under no impression that they'll hurt her, but her dad likes to think he’s good at being vaguely threatening. Threatening, yes; vaguely, not so much. Kate, at least, volunteers to help out and trails her into the kitchen carrying plates and silverware. 

“Sweetheart,” it begins, and God. As if she didn’t hear it enough from Lydia. “If it had to be one of them, it couldn’t be someone...I don’t know. Better? You don’t think you can do better?”

“I could do worse,” Allison says defensively. She has done worse, if she’s honest with herself. Dating had been a mess for years when she was still moving around and hadn’t improved much when her family finally settled in Beacon Hills. Mostly because she hadn’t thought they _were_ going to settle here; she’d heard too many promises of being in a school one whole year before to believe it. Junior year came and went, though, with several mistakes left in its wake, and now she’s here. Getting prickly about her fake girlfriend. “You can’t tell me you don’t think she’s gorgeous. The Hales are objectively good-looking.”

“The son, maybe.” She’s scraping plates off into the garbage disposal, perfectly casual. As if none of this is out of the ordinary. “I don’t know about this one.”

Allison loads the empty plates into the dishwasher. “Well, I do,” she says, and then feels her face heat as she realizes Cora can hear every word they’re saying. “And I’d watch what you say about her or anyone else while she’s literally in the next room.”

“Uh-huh,” Kate agrees, only she doesn’t, and Allison knows it. Things are going to be a mess as soon as there’s no longer someone with enhanced hearing on their property. It almost makes Allison wish she were brave enough to ask if Cora could stay a while longer, hang out in her room. Protect her from what’s undoubtedly coming. “Whatever makes you happy, sweetie.”

Not actually brave at all, Allison herds Cora out by the elbow as soon as everything’s clean, shoulders minutely relaxing when she knows that no one inside can hear. “Did you have to be so…”

“Yes,” Cora answers without waiting for her to finish. “I’m pretending to like you, not pretending to be someone I’m not. I didn’t sign up for that.” She starts to cross her arms, and Allison grabs her by the wrist, swift enough stop at least a casual motion. Cora freezes, everything still but the steady throb of her pulse against Allison’s thumb. They’re stuck there, looking at each other, when Cora very deliberately makes full eye contact. “Not to freak you out, but your dad is staring at us through your front window.”

Allison laughs, slides her hand so she can twine their fingers together as naturally as possible. She steps in closer, hopefully shielding them a little. “Don’t worry. He does this to literally all of my dates. Not a special Hale thing. He’s overprotective. Ignore it.” 

Cora nods. “We’re going to run at 6:15 tomorrow morning. That 5:45 shit is going to give me bruises under my eyes that I didn’t paint on. We have to figure out what we’re going to say to _my_ asshole family.”

“Fine,” Allison concedes. “But if I end up having to shower at school, we’re going to my favorite place after, not yours.” Fair enough deal to strike. “Is he still watching us?” she asks, feeling a strange itch to get her hands away from Cora’s.

“Definitely. And talking to your mother. He says he’s surprised we aren’t-”

“Oh god.” Swallowing hard, Allison bites at her lip, hoping she at least looks like she’s trying to be seductive. “Okay, shit. You’re going to have to kiss me.”

Cora balks, Allison’s fingers squeezing hard around her knuckles all that’s keeping her still. “I’m not getting shot for this.”

“You’re not worth federal prison,” Allison points out. “A hate crime is one thing, but being officially in charge of _protecting_ you, too…”

“Doesn’t stop the police. Serve and protect.” She doesn’t roll her eyes, though, keeps looking right at Allison, head tilted back the barest bit to meet her gaze. “Are you sure?”

Allison nods, breath catching in her throat when Cora leans in right away, up toward her mouth. She shuts her eyes and kisses, expecting a press of lips just long enough to get everyone looking away. Instead she gets a lot of hot, soft mouth all over her own, a kiss as involved as she’s ever felt with all of her clothes still on. She melts for it, pushing back, regretting all of that garlic bread when Cora’s tongue touches hers for the briefest moment, ticklish and teasing. When she pulls away, her eyes look a little heavier than usual, if that’s even possible. If Allison’s not imagining things. The words are right there, waiting for her to grab them, but her voice never kicks in.

“He’s gone,” Cora says, arms dropping to her sides. She backs away a pace, closer to the steps that will take her to the driveway and back home. “6:15, right?”

She’s gone before Allison can even answer, jogging off in jeans like there’s nothing to it. As if nothing had happened. 

Nothing did, she tells herself. Nothing at all. Just one more step in the plan. Which is barreling into phase two. She takes the stairs a few at a time up to her room, ignoring her mother’s finger raised like a starting gun, and starts putting together a list of everything she knows about the Hales, individually and as a whole. She needs to be prepared. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

The Hales are, compared to her own family, exceedingly polite. Not too formal, but definitely not leading her straight down alleys that can only end badly. Allison’s been asked about which classes she’s taking this year - plenty of easy ones and a few that Lydia can help with - and what she wants to do with herself at college.

“Probably...not law enforcement,” she says, knowing her heart would skip half a dozen beats if she reeled out the long, uncertain speech made to give her parents hope. “At least, not the kind that runs in the family. I don’t need to pick my major yet, so I’m kind of sitting on it? Maybe my classes that first few quarters will help me make up my mind.”

“Quarters,” Laura says brightly. “Are you going to UCLA?”

Allison blushes, carefully watching her fork as she skewers three or four green beans to occupy herself. “I’m hoping to. I’m not like Lydia; Stanford was never really an option. No matter what my granddad may have wanted.”

Laura laughs, and Allison is starting to think it’s not just heart-eyes for her boyfriend that makes her so radiant all the time. She seems really, genuinely happy in a way that neither Derek or Cora broadcasts. She’s not sure what got lost in translation with those two. “Not everyone can be an egghead like Lydia. Or our Derek.” She nudges him with her elbow, trying to get a rise out of him, but he seems busy trying very hard to ignore his cell phone. “UCLA was a really fun school. A lot of cute- oh.” She covers her mouth, feigning embarrassment despite the fact that she’s giggling at herself. “Well, lots of cute people in general, how about that?” She smiles broadly at Allison, and Allison can’t help but feel herself smiling back.

“I don’t know if I’ll be looking,” she says without thinking, and it comes out so smooth and honest that her heartbeat picks right up afterwards, her nerves off the charts. Cora’s dad smiles into his mashed potatoes like this is the best news he’s heard in a long time, and Allison can’t meet Cora’s eyes or even glance in her general direction. Their thighs are touching beneath the table. The bench-style sitting here in the Hale house is something she’s not sure she’ll even have time to get used to; she feels like she’s in grade school all over again, brushing elbows every few bites and feeling Cora move around beside her. “I mean. With class to focus on, and everything. Adjusting.”

The wink Laura shoots her is conspiratorial, as if Cora isn’t right there between them, seeing and hearing every minute of this. “You used to move around a lot, didn’t you? You should be great at adapting by now. Better than Cora, at least. She’s been back over a year and she’s decided to observe society instead of rejoining us.” She sticks her tongue out at her sister playfully, reminding Allison of the lighter side of Kate for a moment. “That must be how you’re putting up with her already, anyway.”

“She’s not so bad,” Allison shyly admits, mentally patting herself on the back for staying neutral. That had been what they’d decided on at the juice bar when they were plotting together, Cora continually wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming mix of scents in the building. She won’t tell, but she’s picked a separate place as her ‘home turf’ now, somewhere that won’t bother a werewolf so much. Still her pick instead of Cora’s for those days when she has to shower in the girls’ locker room just before class, leaving her hair damp and unattractive for the rest of the day. Cora always seems smug about it, but Allison gets to hang out in her own haunts, so it might be worth it. “I always noticed her at school. From the first day I met her.” Another neutral truth. Perfect.

“She’s hard to miss,” Talia agrees, speaking up for the first time in a while. She’d been very welcoming when Allison had first turned up, ushering her into the living room (den feels like too much of a dig to use here) with warm smiles and a full selection of beverage offers. She’d nearly gotten herself a glass of red wine to calm down with, but Jason had remembered at the last moment, slipping the glass from her hand and passing it off to Laura who’d thanked him profusely and practically downed it. “When she isn’t holed up in her room.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m alone,” Cora grouches, and _oh_. Allison hasn’t thought of that in days. Cora’s been staying away from some of her usual crowd lately to keep up the whole charade. They can’t have it going around that one of them is running around on the other. It had been a basic rule they’d laid down in that very first lunch meeting and Allison, of course, has had no trouble sticking to it. The idea that maybe Cora might be having more trouble makes her stomach flip - part guilt and part something else, small and unsettling but there.

 

Pretty much everyone with the last name Hale makes a face at Cora, and Allison feels humiliated. She feels like one of them is deviating from the plan enough for things to go sideways at what has, so far, been so much easier to handle than last time. “You’d better be,” she says as lightly as she can manage, bumping their knees together. Cora sits up straighter, not quite seeming remorseful but at least clearly making more of an effort. “You fooling around is not what I signed up for.” It’s too awkward and in context to be a jab the way it had been against her, but it makes Allison feel less pathetic.

Talia picks up the thread of Cora’s past ‘girlfriends’ and how none of them had ever been brought to the dinner table, even when they’d been brought home. “None of the boys either,” she says incredulously, like she can’t believe her daughter’s standards - whether too low or too high, the difference blurring under the circumstances. Allison sticks up for her, says she’s never actually brought someone home officially, either. As friends who later hooked up, sure, but never during an official girlfriend stage. That drags Laura and Derek into things, arguing about their own past dating lives, trailing off into Derek’s _current_ dating life and, well. This feels so much more like a family to Allison. They’re more relaxed with each other, not afraid to say what they mean - not like Kate, who disregards everyone’s feelings, but like people who are comfortable with one another.

Dinner drags on into dessert and then coffee, which Allison turns down in favor of hot chocolate, bumping mugs with Derek. Sweet over bitter any day, she thinks, until Cora catches her eye and her tongue stills before she can say it out loud. Of course, the couple glasses of homemade lemonade at dinner plus the hot chocolate are sending her to the bathroom soon enough anyway, so she takes her chance to escape and reboot. Maybe get her head back on straight. She leaves them talking about intersectionality between race, class, and traditional humanity, struck by how easily they say they’ve practically got it made, for weres.

Ten minutes later, she’s patted her face dry with a hand towel carefully and she’s just about to head back to the living room and say good night when she runs directly into Talia Hale. She stutters, almost expecting a flash of red eyes or some sort of verbal reprimand - she’s touched the alpha. Shouldn’t that be a threat?

Talia laughs instead, takes her by the shoulder and walks her in the direction opposite of where the rest of the family’s raised voices are coming from. “I apologize,” she starts, and before Allison can insist that it was her own fault, she’s being shuffled into a small room at the end of the hall, the door clicking closed behind her. “This is the only room on this floor where they can’t hear us.” It would feel threatening, except that the woman is still smiling at her, albeit a little less brightly than before. “I think Cora would have my head if she were able to listen in. But I wanted you to know that....it might take her some time, but she’ll get there. She’s not very quick to open up.”

Allison is flabbergasted. Of all the things she thought she’d be taken into the inner sanctum to talk about, this isn’t. “Mrs. - Alpha? - Hale, you don’t have to -”

“Darling, it’s alright. I’m not trying to make you feel better. My oldest daughter, she moves fast and she loves it, and it’s usually built to stick around for a while. I wouldn’t be surprised if she marries Jordan. Derek and Cora, though, they take a little more time. It’s not that she doesn’t like you, I promise. You just have to let her catch up to you.”

Something in her gut twists. The alpha of a werewolf pack is sitting here, fully assured that she has deep enough feelings for Cora that they need to be ‘caught up to’ and somehow under the impression that that catching up is going to happen. Allison doesn’t know if Talia is just sentimental or if she can actually tell that things are growing more uncertain the more time she spends with Cora. It’s not a crush - not like one she’s ever experienced at least, the uplifting fluttering heart moments. Cora makes her feel slow and excessive, like it would be better to just watch from afar and not get in her way. It makes her stomach hurt, and yet she keeps this up, despite the fact that her family has barely mentioned that anything’s going on since dinner. There hasn’t even been a concerned call from Grandpa.

“I’ll...keep that in mind,” she finally says, not doing even a passable job at sounding optimistic. The sad smile on Cora’s mother’s face makes her want to swallow tacks. Instead, she heads back out and finishes her lukewarm cocoa, uncomfortable with the mix of looks from the family around her - hopeful and knowing from the parents, pleased and amused from Laura, and Derek’s standout expression that seems to be what happens when you keep a reserved guy on the edge of pissing himself laughing for a few weeks nonstop.

Cora doesn’t kiss her when she leaves for home - she has since the first time, out and about, but apparently she doesn’t want to here. Allison doesn’t press when she knows that there could be ears other than Derek’s trained toward them. She just goes in for a quick hug, Cora mostly stiff under her arms, and gets into her car.

She doesn’t turn the radio on for the drive home. Her head is loud enough already.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

“You should have sex with her.”

Malia’s given this exact advice to her before, so she shouldn’t be so surprised. Or red in the face. She is, though, and Lydia thinks it’s hilarious. Kira is the only one that’s even mildly sympathetic, and Allison doesn’t know how to respond to that, considering this is their first time actually attending the same Lydia sleepover.

“She won’t even kiss me in private, she’s not going to go to bed with me. Besides, whose house would we even pick? Mine, where they might kill her, or random items in my room might put her into the werewolf equivalent of anaphylactic shock? Or hers, where everyone can hear literally everything, and probably smell it, too?”

“Definitely smell it,” Lydia agrees. “Up to a radius of-”

“I don’t want to know,” Allison says firmly. “At all. Never tell me that. I made a point of not learning that. I want to die having no idea if Cora could smell my bed from downstairs at the dinner table.”

“You’re going to find out anyway,” Malia says, looking up from where Kira is trying to paint her nails, despite the fact that she won’t hold still. “Once you’re having sex with her.”

Allison buries her face in Lydia’s fluffiest pillow and screams. This is not the night she wanted. Her intention had been not to think about Cora at all. Just to spend the night with her best friend and talk about college things and school gossip and Paris vs. Milan. The usual fare. But then Lydia had invited Malia and Malia invited Kira and now they’re all here, unable to move away from the topic of Allison’s not-actually-girlfriend. “I want to die,” she says, muffled by goose down and probably very expensive fabric. It’s the closest to the melodramatic teen trope she’s ever been in her nineteen years. She can’t bring herself to feel ashamed.

Lydia sighs at her, flexing her toes as the fuchsia polish on them dries. “You got yourself into this. You could’ve actually asked her out from the start. She’d have rejected you and you’d have some new project to conquer by now. You’re the one that played it this way, and you can get yourself out at any time.”

“Except I can’t. It hasn’t worked yet. My cousin asked me how my pet dog was yesterday. Cora. A pet. Can you even imagine?”  
“Sure,” Kira says, looking up from the silver stripe she’s painting. “I mean, for you? Sure. Your families aren’t the only ones watching and listening, you know. I hear things.”

“What kind of things?”

Kira looks pinned for a moment, like she’s not sure she should be telling but doesn’t feel like keeping a secret is right, either.”Well, I mean. I guess she and that Erica Reyes girl had a big fight? Because Cora’s not sleeping with her anymore.”

Allison deflates. “That’s part of the rules. She didn’t do that because she wants to have sex with me; she did it so we’d look happy and monogamous and believable.”

“If you say so,” Kira says quietly. It sounds like she knows more, but Allison doesn’t press.

“Just say something to her,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes. “Look, you’re a bigger catch than most of the girls she’s been with, and _all_ of the guys. Either she chews you up and spits you out and you cry for a while, or you fuck and everyone’s lives can go back to normal. It’s as simple as that. Either way, you can keep up the charade with your parents and try to pull Romeo and Juliet without all the suicide.”

“She did say she wanted to die,” Malia deadpans, and Kira’s painting hand slips, and everything's a mess for the next little while. It takes the pressure off Allison’s shoulders for a minute or two, letting her soak up what Lydia’s suggesting. It’s not like she’s actually in love with Cora or anything. She just maybe wants this dating thing to be more real. And to have sex. She’ll admit that Malia isn’t pulling her ideas from nowhere. 

They’re putting in Sucker Punch, probably to fall asleep to, when Allison’s phone starts to ring across the room. It’s Lydia that grabs it, up to get her sleep mask, and pads over with a smirk on her face. “It’s your girlfriend,” she says sweetly.

Allison sits bolt upright in bed. Kira and Malia make little ‘ooh’-ing noises, like a pair of fourth graders, and Allison holds a finger over her lips before she connects the call. “Cora?”

“No,” the voice on the other end of the line says, and it’s almost as familiar to her now as Cora’s own. “Look, you need to lay low until graduation and _do not_ talk to my sister, okay? The three of us are in deep shit.”

“Language,” she hears a woman’s voice bark in the background, and it actually takes a moment to register that it’s Laura, not Talia, so sternly reprimanding Derek. 

There’s a lot of muffled fumbling and a slammed door. She can’t hear the click of the lock, but she’s betting it’s there, perfectly clear to a superhuman’s ears. “I don’t know who sold you out, but it’s really not good. Cora’s been in the quiet room with the al- with mom for half an hour.”

“She _knows_?” Allison asks, frantic. Everyone else in the room is suddenly very awake and mostly on top of her, minus Malia who can listen just fine from her spot. “Derek, how did this happen?”

“Well, first of all, you didn’t exactly pick the most secure spot to pitch this idea in the first place,” he shoots back in an angry whisper. “And it’s pretty obvious that your friends over there know all about it.” Allison checks Malia’s reaction but she looks closer to dozing off than getting scared; she’s not sure how the pack relates to her at all, or whether she’s subject to anything Talia or Derek say. “Look, you fucked up, we fucked up, it doesn’t matter. Experiment over. We lost. And I swear to God if you tell your parents that Cora dumped you, there will be hell to pay.”

The call drops abruptly and Allison is left staring at the phone in her hand, the background picture of Cora she’d taken for ‘realism’ looking back at her. There’s no smile on her face because - well, because realism, but her hair is pulled back for a run, her face lightly beaded with sweat. She looks a little breathless. It used to make Allison _feel_ a little breathless. Now she just feels fucked up. This isn’t even an emotionally satisfying ending. She didn’t fix anything, and she has no idea what would’ve happened had some brownie or incubus or elf simply minded their own business.

“What the fuck,” she says softly, barely feeling Lydia’s small, soft hands on her own, taking the phone from her. She has no idea what just happened. It doesn’t feel real.

She lies down but doesn’t sleep, and for the first time in her life, she can kind of understand wanting to put a hole through something just for being different from her.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Summer is a horrible time for running. Allison considers giving it up for a season every time it rolls around, but her training always wins out in the end. She’s drenched in sweat, hair falling out of her ponytail in single strands and sticking to her face and neck in humid little curls. Her only solace is that the juice bar opens very early and is used to winded, slightly smelly runners slaking their thirst at all hours. She grabs the first thing without kale she sees on the menu and sits in her favorite corner, pulling out her phone to check her new school email.

UCLA is definitely a go, and creeping ever closer. She’ll be ordering her books in a few days and she’s kept up a respectable level of Facebook chatting with her assigned roommate, who seems to be a sciences enthusiast who is fairly neutral on supernaturals. That’ll do. Her own major is still a nebulous cloud on the horizon; with the amount of running she’s been doing since _It_ happened, she might as well learn to be a personal trainer and commit herself to sweating out all of her emotions. Ideal solution.

Itineraries are beginning to go up for the freshman activities that’ll be happening around campus around move-in time, and Allison starts to pick and choose her way through what could be interesting and what’s mostly over the top California-themed distraction for the out of state students. There are a few volunteer projects happening that benefit the school or the community and she saves them to her calendar, figuring there’s no better way to make sure a year starts right. Making a difference.

She downs half of her bright orange smoothie in silence, bored out of her mind as she waits for Lydia and Malia to wander back into an area with service. When Lydia had said road trip, Allison thought she’d meant a useless ride to Vegas and back. They’re somewhere between Beacon Hills and El Paso right now, for sure, but it’s hard to keep up with the wild streaks they keep taking across the southwest. Allison wonders if they have some sort of pact to fuck in every state.

The bell over the door rings, a familiar sounds that’s happened six or eight times since she came in, and Allison takes no note of it until the high stool across from her is scraping away from the table. Cora, still tiny as ever, has to climb the thing to get on it properly, and she’s still not at eye level with Allison. Who is definitely staring.

“Good morning?” She’s not sure how she’s supposed to handle this. She almost regrets the greeting, even, when Cora narrows her eyes and tilts her head. “Uh. Not so good morning? Bad run? This place stinks?” This guessing game got familiar to her in the weeks (months? it had all run together) they’d spent hanging out, Cora making faces in reaction more often than talking. 

 

“It does smell terrible,” she agrees, flipping her hair forward over her shoulder and tugging at her tank top, stuck to every inch of her skin with sweat. “But it’s an okay morning.”

Allison is open-mouthed and trying to find something to focus on that isn’t a bead of perspiration slipping down Cora’s exposed collarbone. She’d forgotten how bad this was. She’s saved, though, because an overeager employer ‘would be happy to serve your date, ma’am!’

Cora asks - quite civilly, even - what some of the best sellers here are. She waves off all of the juices - not as good as she’d get at home, Allison’s guessing - and patiently waits through the smoothie list. “And our cocoa banana is a great seller, you can barely taste the spinach. If you want to go for something without greens altogether, you can try our piña colada-”

“She’s allergic to coconut,” Allison says quickly, as Cora tries to alert their server of the same thing. Their eyes meet and Allison blushes furiously, even more so when the girl in the embarrassing juice visor starts to grin, creeping across her face as she realizes what (she thinks) is going on.

“How about I just bring you a Very Strawberry? Never even touches the machines the coconut goes in.” She takes the ten and promises to bring back change with the smoothie and leaves them alone, tittering with her friend behind the counter and glancing in their direction.

Cora clears her throat, swallows, taps her fingers against the table - every nervous tic Allison can imagine manifesting at once. “So...that was weird,” she says, and it actually comes out awkward. Awkward is not something Allison is used to when it comes to Cora.

“Yeah,” Allison agrees, feeling equally out of place. The moment of vivid sexual attraction is broken and now she’s just...sitting here, staring at her one official pile of unfinished business. Maybe that’s what she’s here for. To finish things. “Look, tell your mom thank you for not tipping off my parents. My life would’ve been a living hell. I’m betting yours actually was.”

“At first.” She bites her lips, glancing over her shoulder like she expects her smoothie to arrive at any moment and occupy her mouth for a while.”But then mom noticed that you skipped a meeting, and that your dad stood up but didn’t shout, and…”

Allison laughs, finding dark humor in the twist to all of this. “They took the breakup pretty hard. I might have told them that it was all the pressure from them that caused the problem, and I thought you deserved better.”

“Right. The breakup.” There’s a long moment when Allison thinks she should just get up and go, end this before they both try to open a hole in the floor and sink into oblivion. “I’ve never really done that before. Broken up. Even when I was in Peru, I-”

“You were in Peru?”

Cora’s eyes meet hers for a moment, something she’s missed almost as much as all of those ‘fake’ kisses they’d shared. “For eight years. With family.” 

Well, shit. There’s one mystery solved. “Oh. That’s...wow. I’ve only ever been to France. For like a few weeks a couple years ago. That’s neat.” Neat. She want to bury herself.

“Sure,” she says, almost sounding annoyed, but she doesn’t move to collect her drink and go. “So, even when I was there, I kind of never...I guess I never went on a date. Laura used to bug me about it a lot. And then I came here-”

“And smoked everyone out of the girls’ room,” Allison reminds her, trying to lighten the strange mood a little. 

 

Cora frowns, though, deep and unmistakeable. “You really hated me for that, didn’t you? You never talked to me again. I thought it was the werewolf thing, but you hang out with Malia and Yukimura. That McCall kid.”

“Scott,” Allison supplies for her, nodding. “He’s dating a friend of mine.”

“And he’s bitten, not born. Your family probably told you he’s two seconds from ripping everyone apart at all times.”

That makes her laugh, because that does sound sort of similar to Kate’s favorite rant in comparison to actual wild animals. “I do know how to listen critically. It’s an important skill for college, you know.”

“About that,” Cora says, pouncing on the topic with an enthusiasm Allison hasn’t seen in her before. It feels almost like she’s doing something Allison herself would - building a movie in her head and playing the role as she goes. Cora’s never gets up above a dull roar and she doesn’t lean into conversation this way, face close to Allison’s even though they’re still grimy from running. “I heard you ended up going with UCLA. Laura got wind of it somehow and I swear she stopped acting like you’d taken a shit on our family name. For a second at least.”

“I did get in. Kinda freaked out. No one I actually hang out with is going except maybe Kira. I didn’t even know she was dating someone, but supposedly she’s moving out there with them?”

“Must be something in the water,” Cora says with a secret sort of smile. Allison can never tell if she actually knows something everyone else doesn’t, or if she just knows the look works in her favor. “Because Derek and Braeden are moving out that way, too, and Mom said I could go if I enrolled in Santa Monica College.”

Allison is poised to smile and congratulate her politely, be excited about more people getting up and out of claustrophobic Beacon Hills...and then she pauses. “You’re going to be…”

“Seven miles away, yeah.” The seconds tick by between them. Allison’s heart is doing a complicated number in her chest. She knows Cora can hear every beat falling over itself, tripping forward, and for once that seems like...maybe not the worst thing in the world? She tries a tentative smile and Cora’s shoulders unpinch, leaving her her drowsy-eyed, gorgeous self, face neutral. “I just thought you should know, in case-”

“Here you go, sweetheart!” the server says, slapping the plastic cup onto the tabletop before gently setting down the change with a quiet tinkle. “You ladies enjoy your date, now!”

The breath is knocked right out of Allison, but it’s worth it for the miracle that happens next - Cora Hale laughing, her smile wide like her older sister’s, eyes squinting like Derek’s. Not a dark chuckle or a sarcastic, mocking huff without humor. Allison’s never seen her look quite this happy, not even the times they’d hung around her favorite spots in town instead of Allison’s. Something about her would never quite relax. It’s easy to see why she’d hold it back, now. Cora’s fucking gorgeous when she’s happy, and she did, in fact, have a reputation to maintain.

“I guess we fixed one problem, at least,” Cora says, still beaming.

College is a fresh start, right?


End file.
